Nomad of Nowhere: Across the Desert Sands
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Looking at the red-haired girl, the Nomad wasn't sure if he was her prisoner or protector.


**The Secret in Their Eyes**

Is he still the girl's prisoner?

He doesn't know. He's not even sure if he knows. They're beyond the End of the Line, and are on the edge of the land of Nowhere. They're somewhere, but he can't say where. But they can't be nowhere, because everyone has to be somewhere. They're certainly not in the middle of Nowhere, because the middle of Nowhere is hundreds of miles away. But if one is nowhere in Nowhere, and they're on the edge of Nowhere, does that mean they're closer to being somewhere? Or is everyone somewhere and-

"Hey…slow down."

He does, thoughts of nowheres, somewheres, and middles and edges leaving his mind. Looking back, he sees the girl following him. His captor. Supposedly.

"Need…think I need…rest."

He thinks she might be right. She's moving slowly – like, even more slowly than she was moving a few hours ago. Her skin and hair are drenched with sweat. Her lips are cracked and broken. She looks ready to-

"Think I'm gonna…"

Fall down. Which she does. She lands with a soft 'thud' in the sand. Well, not really a 'thud,' but more like a 'thump.' Or…actually, he's not sure. It's hard to articulate the difference between a 'thud' and a 'thump,' especially when one has no mouth to do any such articulation. But he does have hands. And with those hands, he drags the girl under the shade of a tree.

"Thanks."

She looks up at him. For a moment, her eyes are kind.

"But ya still be ma prisoner, so don't ya be forgettin.'"

And her eyes change a bit, causing him to tilt his head in surprise.

"Y'eard me. Ma prisoner. So don't be getting' no fancy-smancy ideas now."

Her eyes haven't changed that much, he reflects. Nor her voice. It's like…

"Y'starin at me for?"

Like her companion, the one who's always yelling and brandishing weapons of all kinds all the time. The angry one is naturally angry. The girl in front of him now, it's like she's trying to be angry, and passing her off as someone threatening, but failing to do a good job at it.

"Yeah, I'm just gonna…look this way," the girl says. She lies down on her side on the sand. "Don't ya be runnin' off now."

For some reason, the idea of failure hits him hard. He knows about failure. He's seen failure. Experienced failure. But the idea cuts into him deeper than any knife, and wounds deeper than any bullet. Not that he has any flesh to be cut, or any mouth to scream with, but…

He takes a look at the tree the girl's resting under. It's dead. Lots of things are dead in Nowhere. Dead cattle. Dead people. Dead civilizations. Magic's dead as well, apart from him, and from what he can understand, that's why everyone's after him in the first place. Whether it be chasing him down on horseback, or strapping him to a wall, or any kind of other thing that people…well, actually, people seem to treat themselves like that anyway. Only least with him, they've got the excuse of "magic, get out" or "magic, I want it!" But people…he turns around and looks across the wastes of Nowhere, casting his mind back to the train. People are cruel, and he doesn't know why.

Which is why part of his mind (such as it is) is telling him that this is a bad idea. His 'captor' is sleeping. He could just skip away. For all his worries, food and drink aren't among them. The sun isn't among them. He could still be roaming Nowhere centuries, or even millennia from now, after all has collapsed to dust. He doesn't know if he wants that. Might be safer, sure, but…

The girl lets out a snore. She's fallen asleep. And slowly he walks over, squatting down in the sand. Red hair. Fair skin (sunburnt skin, he notices). Eyes are different though, but he can't be sure as to what they're different from. They're green, not...something different. Maybe if he opens one of her eyes...he puts a finger on one of her eyelids, begins to raise it-

"Gah!"

She springs up, and he springs back.

"Ya be doin' me in?" she exclaims. She scrambles back against the chair. "Ain't no funny stuff here mister!"

He raises his hands to try and convey that he didn't mean any harm. She doesn't say anything. She just stares. He stares. He sees her…sees her…not her though…maybe…someone…

"Hey," she snaps. "No starin.'"

He had someone to protect...but then she didn't need protection…did he do too good a job of protecting…or is the heat addling his mind?

"Hey," the girl says, waving a hand in front of his eyes. "You listenin?'"

He nods his head.

"Good." She gets to his feet. "Well, come on now. You're ma prisoner, and we gotta be marchin' something fierce."

There's only one thing that's fierce, he reflects, and that's the sun. Given how the girl looks out over the wastes…  
"Or…maybe we wait till the sun's a mite lower," she says, before looking at him. "Y'know. For efficiency."

He doesn't get how, but he nods. He's her prisoner…he thinks.

"So, like, I'm gonna catch some shade, and, ah, no monkey bees-wax," the girl says. She leans back against the tree, keeping one eye open.

If this is what it's like being a prisoner, then maybe it's not too bad, he reflects. But as he turns away, as he looks west, towards the place the sun dies, he wonders…

Was he a prisoner? Or was he a jailer?

And more importantly, why the question at all?

"Jellybabies…pumpkin muffins…"

He's certainly not going to get the answer to the question behind the question so he can get the answer here, he reflects.

"Pig dogs…" the girl says, talking in her sleep still. "Eggs and broccoli…"

But he'll stay put. For now at least. Prisoners have to stay put.

And so do protectors.

* * *

 _A/N_

 _Might as well specify that this takes place somewhere between episodes 8 and 9._

 _Also haven't reached the end of the first season yet, so if there really is any connection between Skout and Melinda that goes beyond inference, haven't seen confirmation yet._


End file.
